


peppermint

by ribbonelle



Category: Transformers - All Media Types, Transformers Generation One
Genre: Gestalt (Transformers), Multi, Vore
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-02
Updated: 2018-11-02
Packaged: 2019-08-14 12:55:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,258
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16493027
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ribbonelle/pseuds/ribbonelle
Summary: ‘Come on, Ons. Let’s have some fun.’





	peppermint

**Author's Note:**

  * For [MercuryMapleKey](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MercuryMapleKey/gifts).



> never written vore, never written these characters. features questionable means of communication within a gestalt.
> 
> idk i winged this

Vortex’s thoughts felt like an itch through their gestalt link that got worse with time. It was annoying, and Onslaught had sent multiple warnings before finally snapping in their connection, having lost his temper.

‘ _Stop it! We’re in the middle of a fight, you insufferable glitch.’_

Bruticus lurched forward and swung wildly, swatting a couple of Aerialbots out of the air to crash into the forest ground somewhere miles away.

The gestalt link was roiling somehow; with what, none of them could truly pinpoint. It wasn’t enough to pull Bruticus apart, but that wasn’t a far-off possibility. Onslaught _refused_ to let that happen. Not with how well they have been doing in this fight.

‘ _We’re winning.’_ Vortex sent, a statement of the obvious. But the link calmed down, somewhat.

They were winning. Defensor had disassembled after a particularly violent blow to his chest, and the Autobots had been dumb enough to only send out one combiner team to face Bruticus. It was an easy victory for the Decepticons. The Protectobots were scrambling away; Optimus Prime had called for retreat, most likely.

The Aerialbots had either been hit hard enough that they weren’t coming back, or were also falling back. Bruticus was mainly posturing, at this point.

One particular Protectobot was moving a bit too slow compared to his other teammates. Bruticus noticed him hobbling, trying his hardest to get away. In an instant, Bruticus’ left arm shot out and grabbed the injured Autobot.

‘ ** _Vortex_** _. What the **frag** do you think you’re doing?’_

The gestalt link went haywire again, mainly due to Onslaught’s harsh temper, but Bruticus was holding the Protectobot in a firm grip. Tight enough that he couldn’t even properly struggle to escape.

_‘Come on, Ons. Let’s have some fun.’_

Vortex’s thoughts became too vivid then, filling their connection with ideas and images and the response from the rest of the gestalt was chaos.

‘ _Oh, **let’s**. We haven’t done that in a while!’ _ Brawl’s enthusiasm was deafening, as usual. Blast Off’s distaste was sharp, too, but to a lesser degree.

_‘It’s so unnecessary. Must we?’_

Swindle was mostly amused, ‘ _Well. His gestalt is watching.’_

Bruticus refocused his optics on the ground before them, and Swindle was right. The Protectobots were looking frantic; the motorcycle was holding the copter back, and the other two’s distress was palpable even from where Bruticus was standing. They really were watching. Probably conflicted between the Prime’s orders to fall back, and their teammate’s life.

The mech in Bruticus’ grip was still struggling. He brought it close to his optics, and confirmed that it was Hot Spot, the leader of the Protectobots.

_‘Lucky. And plus,’_ Vortex added, sharing a vague image with them through the link, ‘ _He really looks like peppermint candy._ ’

He did. Their connection had stabilized greatly, every mech in their team now thinking of Vortex’s idea of fun. They won the battle. No other Autobot was posing a threat, not even the yelling Protectobots on the ground before them.

‘ _Fine._ ’

The gestalt link buzzed with whatever individual emotion the Combaticons were feeling, before syncing up again, all of them now focused on a singular goal.

Bruticus loosened his grip on Hot Spot, just to check him over. His plating was dented really bad, which sparked a sense of satisfaction in Bruticus. The combiner pressed a giant thumb against the dent, which covered the entirety of Hot Spot’s frame. Hot Spot’s pained groaning sent the gestalt link flaring, and Bruticus smiled wide.

This wasn’t a bad idea.

He brought Hot Spot closer to his face, and rubbed over Hot Spot’s frame once more for good measure. A gentle touch, by Bruticus’ standards, but enough for Hot Spot to clutch at himself, his internals probably damaged or ruptured. He really was brightly colored, and bright enough to catch a shine still, even after all the manhandling. Perhaps he was polished recently. Bruticus hoped the polish was of high quality.

The combiner opened his mouth and heavily ran his glossa over Hot Spot’s small frame. His glossa was bigger than Hot Spot, really, so it was just a press of the tongue and Hot Spot was entirely covered in oral lubricant. Hot Spot was frozen, too, optics flashing wide in shock. It was such a precious reaction that Bruticus laughed a little.

He tongued the Autobot again, but pressed harder, and he could physically feel how the mech tried to transform under his glossa. But he couldn’t; his frame dented out of shape to allow transformation.

“Stop,” Hot Spot croaked, his vocoder _wrecked_ , and the plea went straight to the gestalt’s collective interface, “Don’t.”

The taste of polish was sharp on Bruticus’ glossa. Something of Praxian origin, Blast Off quaintly supplied. It was good to know that the little Autobots were taking care of themselves.

“More,” Bruticus replied, and licked Hot Spot’s lower half up into his mouth. Hot Spot _panicked_ , hands scrabbling at Bruticus’ face, and it tickled. Bruticus sucked on the frame to taste more of that polish, and Hot Spot screamed.

It was a wonderful sound.

Hot Spot was kicking weakly at Bruticus’ glossa. It was fun ( _told you,_ Vortex sent), to wrestle the legs quiet with his tongue. Bruticus prodded in between Hot Spot’s legs and Hot Spot jerked like he’d been burned. If Bruticus wanted, he could squash Hot Spot’s head in using his thumb and his forefinger. The idea was tempting, but they could use a hostage.

And they wanted to play with him more.

Bruticus opened his mouth gingerly and pushed the rest of Hot Spot onto his glossa. Curled his glossa over the frame, and closed his mouth.

The mech was heavy, a pleasant weight on their glossa. Hot Spot was struggling, but his hands kept slipping off of Bruticus’ glossa, unable to find purchase. Bruticus took care to keep his dentae in check, simply undulating his glossa around and under the mech in his mouth. As tempting as it was to bite down and feel warm energon flooding his mouth (someone reacted strongly to the thought; most likely Vortex), Hot Spot’s squirming, wiggling frame felt much better right now. It lasted longer. The sensation of life in his mouth was addictive, and Bruticus kept nudging Hot Spot with his glossa for more. Hot Spot didn’t disappoint.

‘ _I want him down our throat._ ’ Brawl sent, disrupting their link momentarily. The desire in his message was so strong that Onslaught couldn’t even bring himself to admonish the mech.

Bruticus seemed to agree.

He mock swallowed first, swallowing the oral lubricant in his mouth while holding on to Hot Spot with his glossa. They could _physically_ feel Hot Spot freeze, before struggling with renewed vigour, even more frantically than he had been. Bruticus hummed in pleasure.

And swallowed.

Hot Spot’s shouts were vibrations all along Bruticus’ oral intake. It was _good,_ feeling him slide down slowly, the passage so tight that he couldn’t move. A long downwards drag, and then the sensation was gone.

The gestalt link was buzzing with pleasure. From all of them, really, which was partially the sense of accomplishment from Bruticus, and just. A shared experience.

‘ _That was fun, wasn’t it? A team bonding exercise, Onslaught._ ’

Vortex was too pleased with himself. But the contentment was undeniable. The rest of the Protectobots had fled, but the fear on their faces had been fantastic. It was good to surprise the Autobots every once in a while. Kept things fresh.

‘ _Don’t gloat,’_ but there was no heat to Onslaught’s message, ‘ _Good job. Let’s head back.’_  


End file.
